Steve's Return Home
by CD64
Summary: A mission for Steve goes awry. The team believes him to be dead and Natasha is distraught thinking she will never see him again...of losing her only love. Unbeknownst to them Steve had been rescued by an elderly man and takes him to his ranch. He and his wife tend to the strange young man who does not remember who he is. Will Steve recover his memories? Will they be reunited?
1. Chapter 1

Steve's Return Home:

**Author's Note: I don't know where I am going with this story. I plan it to be only a couple of chapters. Hopefully you enjoy reading this and Thanks for checking this story out.**

**Disclaimer: I don't any of these characters. I wish, though. **

Chapter 1:

It was a simple mission. It's funny, really, how people expect things to occur but it isn't what actually happens in the end. All he had to do was check if the warehouse was a remnant of numerous buildings still left of HYDRA. If it was HYDRA he would have to wait for the others as back-up to help destroy the facility.

"The French countryside is beautiful", he thought, "it be such a shame if HYDRA actually had a base here."

He hoped it was just a false alarm. He wanted to go home already. He wanted to be with his friends and his wife, Natasha. _His wife_. He still couldn't believe it. Even after two years of marriage he still imagines that it is all a wonderful dream that he conjured up in his head and if it were a dream he did not want to wake up...ever. But he knew it wasn't and that just made him cherish the life he was living even more.

Especially when he remembered waking up from the ice, the overwhelming sadness and grief that he had, after realizing that all his friends were gone. He didn't think he could rebuild his life again, but he had been proven wrong. The threat against Earth by Loki and his army helped integrate him with a group of people who are now his closest friends. And it was how he had also met his wife. He wasn't dumb enough not to notice the second chance that had been to given him.

A year after the Battle of Manhattan, he had finally gathered up the courage to ask the femme fatale on a date and he thanked his lucky stars every day after that when she had said yes. It was the start of all his happiness. It was amusing to see the others' reactions when they found out about it and the rest of the day too when Tony had pushed Natasha too far. Also, Clint's revenge against Tony for doing something that the others still hadn't figured out was entertaining as well.

The guys were having breakfast and Tony was doing his usual antics of teasing Steve.

"Hey Captain Purity, when are you going to let us help you find a girl to lose your V-card."

Clint listened with avid interest while he simultaneously scarfed down his plate of chocolate- chip waffles. Pausing only to nod his head, to emphasize his agreement to Tony's statement.

"Stark, seriously you are going to start this, this early," Steve said keeping his face down towards his plate, while the beginning of a blush began to form on his cheeks.

"You, seriously, need to lighten up and let us help you," Tony continued.

"Help him with what?" Natasha yawned as she entered and sat in the empty chair in between Steve and Bruce.

"I am trying to be a good friend by trying to convince Captain Virgin, here, that he should lose his V-card." Tony explained.

"He can't lose it twice," she said cryptically while serving herself some sliced fruit and a waffle.

"What do you mean he can't lose it again? How would you know if he has already lost it little Red," Tony said absentmindedly while taking a swig of his tumbler of whiskey. Finally registering what she had said, his eyes grew wide and began to tear when he began coughing out the whiskey that he had just drank. Meanwhile, Bruce was busy thumping Clint's back, who was choking on a mouthful of waffles.

"No, NO," Tony said after the coughing fit had subsided, "How did-"

"Shut up Stark," Natasha said not bothering to look up.

"When did this-"

"Stark," Natasha ground out, keeping her rising anger on hold.

"...What?" Tony, for once, was at a loss for words.

"Stark. Pinky." she warned. Tony taking heed of her warning and stopped whatever he tried to say...for now.

Tony kept on staring at Natasha still not convinced of what he heard. Steve cleared his throat and continued finishing his breakfast, his face at this point was tomato-red.

Tony cast a glance at Bruce and Clint. Bruce was unperturbed from the revelation and continued sipping his tea. Clint, on the other hand, had the same dumbfounded expression as him.

Throughout the day, Tony's eyes flickered between Steve and Natasha. It was evening when Thor returned from Asgard, it was Avengers Movie Night after all. When he heard that Steve and Natasha were together, he was ecstatic.

"Tis marvelous to hear that Steven and Lady Natasha are courting one another." Thor's voice boomed through the room, enveloping them both into a bone-crushing hug.

"We should celebrate this momentous occasion," he added, while they all went to their seats. On the sofa were Tony and Thor on each side with Clint on the floor, head against the free space in the middle of the couch. Bruce was sitting in a comfortable armchair while Steve and Natasha sat together.

"Hear, hear," Clint joined. He was shocked but happy that his partner had found someone. He mentally reminded himself that he needed to have a little chat with Steve about the consequences of hurting Natasha; she was like his little sister. Although, he knew his threat would go unfulfilled as he saw how happy they were as she curled next to Steve on the loveseat.

"So," Tony said with a grin on his face and wriggling his eyebrows up and down, "How was the ride little Red?"

Upon hearing Tony's word, Thor's face scrunched into confusion.

"I am confused Man of Iron, what is this ride you are talking about that Lady Natasha has ridden? Is it a steed you are speaking of?"

"Yeah Thor it was a stallion," Tony chuckled, "Right Red?"

Trying to hide their amusement, Bruce and Clint quickly glanced at Natasha, who was glaring at Tony, and busy uncurling away from Steve. Steve was also glaring at Tony but his looked less menacing because of the big blush on his cheeks.

"That's it," Natasha growled. She swiftly got up, jumped over Clint, and pounced on Tony causing them both to flip over the couch. They heard sounds of a struggle, Natasha stood with Tony following suit since she had him in a fierce headlock.

"Are you going to stop, Stark," Natasha grunted. Being the big mouth that Tony was... he didn't.

"I was giving you a compliment," he gasped, "Congratulations on bagging a thoroughbred."

Having had enough of Tony's shenanigans, she shifted her headlock grip into a sleeper hold. She sighed with relief when she felt Tony relax.

"He will most likely be knocked out until tomorrow." She said as she walked across the room and snuggled next to Steve. He was smiling gratefully at her for shutting Tony up.

Not able to keep it together, Clint started laughing with tears streaming down his eye. Thor's laughter boomed across the room and Bruce let out a few guffaws as he saw his science bro lying on the ground. Steve let out a few chuckles; Natasha next to him, joining in with her melodic laughter. Her anger with Tony faded away.

"Can we continue watching the movie?" she asked as their laughter died down. She received a few nods and murmurs of agreement.

They were watching the last few minutes of the flick when they heard the click-clacking of Pepper's heels before she even entered the room. They greeted her with "Welcome home Pepper" and continued watching the movie. Still busy with her phone and at the same time conversing with someone over her Bluetooth she did not notice Tony until one of her feet bumped into him. Pepper took one look at Tony, who was slightly drooling on the floor, and the rest of the Avengers. She had an idea of what might have happened here.

"Did Tony say or do anything obnoxious?" Pepper asked.

"Yes," Natasha replied, "He was going too far on his jokes about Steve. As his girlfriend, I protected him from being sent to jail after murdering Tony. Tony is fine by the way. He will be awake by tomorrow."

Pepper nodded her head, understanding that Tony got what he deserved for provoking a super soldier and his spy/assassin girlfriend. He did go too far this time. She continued walking towards the kitchens.

"Wait," she thought," ...GIRLFRIEND?!"

Everybody turned around when they heard Pepper rapidly clicking back into the room. She had a huge grin on her face as she looked at her best friend and Steve. Natasha returned the smile and nodded at the question evident on Pepper's face. Pepper quickly went to hug Natasha.

"Congratulations, you two," she said and started heading again towards the kitchen before pausing and looked back at Natasha.

"Oh, and you have to teach me how to do this," she added while pointing at Tony's placid form on the floor.

"Of course. It will be my pleasure Pepper, "Natasha said with an evil, feline grin stretching across her face. Her smile brought shivers down the boys' spines as they saw the smile of revenge on her face. They looked at Pepper who had reciprocated Natasha's evil smile with her own. The boys looked at each other coming to the same conclusion: _Women_.

"Thanks," Pepper said and then hurried to the kitchen to grab a glass of cool water. Her thoughts were on Natasha and Steve. She was happy for them.

"Finally, they got together," she thought, "Those two have been giving each other eyefuls since forever."

When the film ended they all stretched up and slowly started filling out. Bruce, most likely went back to the lab to continue on one of many science projects that he was working on. Thor, retired to his room. The next day he wanted to go to New Mexico and surprise Jane. Natasha grabbed Steve's hand and started leading him back to his room, he looked back to Tony. Clint was crouched next to Tony, black marker in his hand and a dark smile on his lips. On Tony's face he had drawn a small mustache, glasses, and a certain body part of a man's anatomy on both his cheeks. Steve and Clint shared a smile before Natasha tugged him out of the room and Clint disappeared into a vent. Steve could only imagine what Tony's reaction will be tomorrow.

He inwardly chuckled at the memory. He missed them all. Yes, even Tony. He had been searching the countryside for three days now because of an anonymous tip that HYDRA was operating around here and since he had the most experience with HYDRA, Fury gave him this mission. It took him forever to find it. It was well isolated in between the hills; it surprised him that it was only fifty miles west from a little village.

He quickened his pace to reach the building, his eyes surveying his surrounding for any movements. Pressing himself against the wall, he edged himself slowly and steadily around the corner to get to the door.

"Strange, "he thought as he opened the unlocked door and snuck inside.

The room was dark and he waited for his eyes to get used to the low lighting. His eyes made out big wooden crates stacked up everywhere. He stepped forward quietly; still unsure if there was any security here. Going to one of the crates he lifted the top slowly and looked in. Nothing. He grew more puzzled as every crate he opened was empty. As he explored further inside the warehouse, his super hearing began to pick up a ticking noise. He dropped the lid of the crate with dread. He realized the ticking was that of a bomb. He scrambled back towards the entrance when the bomb went off.

His turned around to face the explosion using his shield to protect him. The force of the blast was too much as he flew into the air. He lost his grip on his shield as it flew out of his hands and he felt his uniform burning all around. He clutched at his necklace were he always put his wedding ring, afraid he'd destroyed when he was busy punching bad guys. The last memory he had was of the day he left on the mission giving Natasha one last quick kiss before he faded into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Rough couple of days, had started it Thursday (already had an outline prepared for chapter two) and wrote half of it that night (only got two hours of sleep, had to write everything down before I forgot) and the rest Friday. Rereading it today, I disliked how I wrote some parts and ended up rewriting the whole second half. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy chapter two.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.**

Chapter Two:

Over the period of three days since Steve had left on a mission, Natasha had gone shopping with Pepper, sparred with Clint for several hours, killed a couple more hours with Tony and Bruce at the lab, and spent another few with Thor continuing the lessons of learning Midgardian technology. He had vastly improved with the help of Jane but even after four years he still needed to be watched with the toaster when he tries to make pop-tarts. It wasn't because he did not know how to work it, but his impatience to having to wait to consume the pastry.

"This waiting period is eternal," he grumbled; keeping his eyes on the toaster, waiting for his delicious food.

"Pop-tarts and coffee are the things besides alcohol that keep him real happy," she mused, while watching Thor's face radiate joy when the pastries finally popped up.

She enjoyed the company of the team and the distraction it gave her, but she just wanted Steve to get home already.

She still couldn't believe her good fortune. Of course Steve, always the gentleman, told her he was the lucky one but she knew it was herself that ended up with more than she deserved. She did not have the best outlook in life, because her past gave her no reason to look for happiness. It was something that she had simply swept aside, thinking that it will always be out of her reach, something that was just not meant for her. Never in her wildest dreams could she have pictured herself as she was right now; enjoying her days accompanied by the perfect man.

Natasha was currently in their living room on their floor; she was stretched on the couch with her back against a pillow and the armrest. She was doing paperwork for SHIELD, she preferred going on the missions than the excessive amount of paperwork that had to be completed afterwards. Two hours later, she let out a yawn while stretching her hands in front of her. The light bounced of her rings, causing her to focus on her left hand. Her wedding band was simple, but beautiful and she loved it. It represented the man she had married. While in his alter ego, he turned into someone with an authoritative command and strong leadership his true form was so different underneath the mask. He was a simple and humble man. He never allowed his super serum-acquired powers to corrupt him. She preferred her engagement ring just because of when Steve told her about its history. As she kept staring at her ring, she began to reminisce of the night Steve had proposed to her.

It was a little more than a year after he had asked her out. After having dinner at the Italian restaurant, where they had their first date, they walked in the park for a while with their hands together; fingers intertwined.

Seeing a bench unoccupied, she released his hand and sat down. She had a girl moment, her heels were tiring her out, and needed a few minutes to rest. Steve, on the other hand, had already dropped down on one knee in front of her and gathered her petite hands in his.

"Nat, we have known each other for two years now and have been seeing each other for the past year," he began; holding her gaze with his, "The best memories I have of this time are the moments that I have shared with you. I have always planned on marrying someone, of finding my other half and sharing the rest of life with that person. I have found that person..."

An older couple was walking by and heard the beginning of Steve's speech. The man shared a smile with his wife as they both remembered the day he had proposed to her thirty-one years ago. Even though the years have passed, he was still in love with the woman beside him. As their steps drew them further away, the man took a last glance back at the young gentleman, who was kneeling, mentally wishing him the best of luck, and hoped the young couple shared a lifetime of love and happiness. The couple began to pace faster; they had a hospital to get to where they would finally meet their first grandchild.

"...That person is you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Natasha Romanoff, no, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, will you give me the honor of becoming my wife?" he said, as he fished out a ring from his pocket, "Will you marry me?"

Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears and she tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Yes," she croaked; she paused to clear her throat before she continued, "It would be my pleasure to marry you."

He slipped the ring onto her finger. She placed her hands on his cheeks and gave him a slow, tender kiss. When their lips parted, she leaned her forehead against his and smiled. He mirrored her smile while his hands covered hers, which were still on his face; his thumbs rubbing the back of her hands. They stayed that way for a while not wanting to break the sweet moment. Realizing that it was getting late, Steve pulled her hands away from his cheeks, keeping a hold on them, as he stood up and then gently tugged her up from the bench.

"This would have been perfect," she said, standing up from the bench, "If my heels weren't killing me."

The words had barely left her lips, when Steve scooped her in his arms and began walking home.

"Might as well practice for the wedding night," he smirked.

"Ok, now it's perfect," she said. Resigning herself to being carried, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head onto his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat.

Later on that night, as they were snuggled together, she asked him a question she had about the ring.

"Did you ask a jeweler to design it like this?" she asked. The engagement ring was made of two thin, silver bands weaved together with the ends of it encircling the beautifully cut diamond. It was old-fashioned, but it had that classic, clean look to it that made its design timeless. A design that would never go out of fashion.

"To tell you the truth, it used to be my mother's," he explained, "My father received it from his, and told him to give it to the woman he loved and married. So, he gave it to my mother. My mother gave it to me before she passed away, saying that she was sorry for not being able to see me wed, but hoped that when I found the woman, that I take my wedding vows seriously and to cherish her."

Natasha pressed herself closer to Steve, like him, she experienced the same pain of loneliness when her parents had passed away. They were both orphans.

She was brought out of reverie, when she heard the dinging of the elevator; alerting her that someone had arrived at her floor. It was Clint, dressed in his mission attire. He had his agent mask on; betraying no emotion, but his eyes told a different story. His eyes were filled with apprehension. He opened his mouth several times but only to close it not knowing how to proceed.

"Just spit it out, Barton," she said, her anxiety growing due to his hesitation. He never hesitated when he spoke with her. They always said whatever was needed to be said, no matter how grave or sad the situation, especially if it was about a mission, she assumed, because of the way he was dressed.

"Fury called, said it was urgent for us to head to the Helicarrier, it's about Steve," he said, gauging her reaction, "A quinjet will be here in ten minutes."

The blood drained from her face, and her stomach, filled with unease, began to feel queasy.

"I-I'll be ready in five minutes," she stammered; rising from the couch and rushing to the bedroom to suit up. She slipped her rings off her finger and put them on a necklace. She placed it around her neck and slipped it inside her catsuit. It was the same necklace that Steve had; they bought them together, so they could keep their rings safe.

Clint waited for her and they rode the elevator up to the helipad, where everyone else was already gathered. They filed into the quinjet and waited to be transported to the Helicarrier.

Tony, wearing his Ironman suit with his face mask lifted up, was trying his best to keep a straight face. He was trying to rein his own emotions in, not only to keep a clear head, but also for Natasha's sake. Bruce had his head slightly bent down, with one of his hands on the bridge of his nose. He was trying to calm the Hulk, who desperately wanted to get out, to smash, hoping that would be the solution to whatever situation Steve was in. Steve was the only one that the Hulk listened to completely, plus he liked his shiny shield and was happy when he played Frisbee with him using the shield. Of course, Hulk knew he had to throw it, very slowly. Thor, was very worried for the Captain of America. Dark clouds quickly gathered and thunder rumbled. He tried to keep his emotions at bay, knowing that they would require clear skies to reach their destination faster. Barton was sitting next to Natasha, his thoughts on the super soldier. Clint owed Steve. After the incident with Loki, everybody doubted him, waiting for him to turn back into the mind-controlled puppet. Natasha vouched for him and surprisingly, Steve as well. They had not known each other well then, yet he backed him up. Steve said that he had earned back everybody's trust when he helped to defeat Loki and his army of Chitauri.

Fury and Agent Hill were waiting for them in the conference room. They all reluctantly sat down; they just wanted to spring into action already.

"You already know that there was an anonymous tip that there was a HYDRA base located in a remote place in France. Having the most experience against them he was supposed to see if there was actually a base, if so, he was to wait for the rest of you to join him and destroy it," Fury began, "He reported himself in, every hour, on the hour. He last reported in an hour and a half ago. I have already sent a group of agents from a nearby SHIELD base and they are currently forty-five minutes away. I'm sending you guys in as well, aware that you would have disobeyed my orders if I hadn't."

Natasha was the first to react and quickly jumped from her seat to get back on the quinjet. Everybody else rushed after her as well. She shoved the pilot away from the control systems and closed the ramp the second she heard the last person step in. Clint occupied the seat next to her, helping her by co-piloting.

A regular, civilian flight from New York to France took around seven and a half hours. The quinjet, driven by one of the certified pilots by SHIELD, could easily cut that time between six hours and forty-five minutes to seven hours and ten minutes. Natasha, with her urgency to go find Steve, bested her personal best time: six hours and thirty-three minutes, not that she care or noticed. Her mind was preoccupied with Steve, and only Steve. Just hoping that he was okay.

They arrived at the location, easily identifiable by the last billows of smoke released from the bomb site, in six hours flat. There was nothing of the building left standing. As they exited off the ramp, Tony quickly went to an agent for an update with everybody following along.

"You, Agent...whatever, have you located Captain America?," Tony asked, hoping for good news.

"Agent Kane and negative, Mr. Stark," the young agent replied.

Agent Kane looked at the Avengers, sans Captain America, not sure how to proceed. He was a new agent barely out of the training room.

"Come on, come on," Tony hurried; he hated dealing with new people.

"Uh well...follow me," the agent said, as he led them, walking around the perimeter of the remains of the blast. "This is all we have found, and I'm sorry to say but it doesn't seem like the captain made it out on time."

Natasha's neutral, emotionless mask was plastered on her face, while inside, she felt a huge mixture of anguish, anxiety, and fear. Her mind was spinning of the numerous possibilities of what might have happened to him. She did not want to conceive the thought of Steve being dead.

All her hope vanished, when they saw what they had laid on a tarp. The item that caught her attention first was his shield, with the paint heavily damaged. Several bits and pieces of his uniform were strewn around and in the midst of it she saw his necklace. The silver-chained necklace, with the ring on it. The little clasp that held it around one's neck, broken. He always had it with him, always.

"Have you checked the surrounding area?" Tony asked.

"Yes, we have checked the vicinity of the bomb site and we also went to the village to check if their medical center had admitted anyone with severe burns or other injuries and nothing."

Pain engulfed them, all of them. The head of their dysfunctional team was gone. The boys all internalized their sorrow, for now, as they wanted to appear strong for Natasha. To be the support she needed at the moment.

"Why, why, WHY?!," Natasha mentally yelled. She was numb, frozen.

"He can't be gone, he is NOT gone." She told herself, unconvincingly, continuing her mental tirade.

She crouched down, and with trembling fingers picked up the necklace. On the verge of tears, she turned and strode away to go back into the quinjet. She did not want them to see her cry.

Tony sent a message to Fury: "Reporting Steve Rogers; killed in action." Nothing else. They had plenty of time to talk when they got home. He went to pick up the remains of the bomb, and putting them into the plastic bag that Agent Kane had graciously supplied, making a silent promise that they would avenge him. Thor caused the beautiful, orange evening sky to darken, thunder booming. The Asgardian grabbed Steve's shield, while Bruce and Clint picked the scraps of uniform and placed them in a cylindrical, metal container, also given to them by Kane. It was all that was left of the Star-Spangled Man.

Getting into the aircraft, the boys noticed that Natasha was already strapped in the pilot's seat. She started the engines and set them on a course home.

She unbuckled herself, after landing it on top of Stark Tower and strode off, before any of the others could stop her. The elevator dropped her off to her level, where she quickly walked into the bedroom and locked herself in. Leaning against the door, she slowly slid down, falling on the plush carpet, and let the tears that she had trouble containing the entire ride back, stream down her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I deeply apologize for not updating this sooner, this chapter was a somewhat difficult to write. I had gotten writer's block. For sure though, is that I do intend to finish this story no matter what. I also dislike when stories are left hanging and also I would like to thank you for the wonderful reviews it gives me the urgency to try and finish these chapters faster to upload them, it's kind of like the kick in the butt that I need. Enjoy.**

Chapter Three:

Steve's body flew through the air and after crashing back onto the ground; he tumbled a few feet more before his body finally laid at rest, sprawled and battered. In the first impact, he had hit his back flat on the dirt, causing his arm to spread out; taking along his necklace that he still had in his hand. Its clasp had broken, and it slipped out of his grip, as he continued rolling on. What stopped him from tumbling anymore was the boulder that was partially sticking out of the ground. His head connected on the blunt edge; hitting the side of his cranium.

Pierre was an elderly man in his middle sixties. He was fishing in a small river patiently waiting for the fish to bite. Although this river was around two hours away from his ranch, he would come over here to this particular river which was inhabited by big game. It was also the one, he and his father use to come to when he was a young boy although they lived in the village and it was much closer from there. With such clear water the river had, he saw the abundance of fish in there and grew more excited as one of them began to circle his bait.

A large boom erupted the quiet afternoon. The fishes, panicking from the noise and small tremor, scattered and hid. He was irritated at having lost the chance to snag a fish of decent size and scanned the area around him. He saw a huge billow of smoke beginning to rise. Puzzled to what it could be, he gathered his things and went to his truck and started driving towards the smoke.

"Oh my goodness, what happened here?" He thought.

He was aghast at the scene that lay before him. It was still hot due to the explosion and there were small remnants of fires still burning. It was smoky and his eyes began to water slightly. As his eyes roamed the site he saw a few feet away from the area a body next to a boulder; away from the direction of the rising smoke. As he got closer he was relieved seeing the man's chest rise and fall, he was alive. Pierre was surprised at how young this man was, but he focused his attention to his injuries. Perusing the man, he quickly made mental notes on which ones would need more attention than others. He went on his knees, to check the man's head which had an open wound. It was a nasty gash and a small amount of blood was barely making its way down. He quickly went to his truck and got his first-aid kit. The first-aid kit was a courtesy from his wife, mentally thanking her for berating him to always keep it in his truck, and got to work.

He gently padded the head wound and wrapped a bandage to it and proceeded on to the other injuries. He made a splint and secured the man's left arm in, which had the telltale signs of being broken. He covered the abdomen which had a long but shallow cut. Finally, he applied pressure on the lesion on the right leg and bandaged it. The other lacerations on him were small and could wait to be tended to when he got him professional medical help.

With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Pierre was also luckily only a few inches shorter that Steve, he was able to put him in the backseat of the truck. Picking up his first aid kit and collecting all the wrappers from the gauzes he turned on the engine and bolted down the dirt road.

"Hold on," he repeated over and over in his head. He was constantly throwing swift glances between the road and the back seat.

He debated between taking him to the village medical center or his wife, who had years of experience and who actually helped create the medical center when they came to live in the ranch. Knowing that the medical center would just ask him to bring his wife, so that she can input her expertise in this case, he kept on driving straight to his ranch instead of taking a left towards the village; wanting to save time. Due to his rapid haste, they were able to get their half an hour earlier than what it usually would have taken. He called for one of his workers to help him.

"Jean! Help me take him inside, now!" he ordered.

"Yes, sir," replied the worker, and went over to help. They carried him inside to one of the multiple guest rooms in the house.

His wife, Marie, witnessing them carry the man, went to retrieve her medical bag. When she entered the room, her husband was applying pressure to one of the many wounds on the man. She sat on the edge of the bed and began tending to the wounds.

"What happened? We heard an explosion and saw the smoke; I was worried since that was the direction that you were at. Are you well?" She asked, full of concern.

"Yes, healthy and in a much better state than him. I was at the fishing spot, and out of nowhere this explosion happened. I went to see what it was and I found him there lying on the ground. He hit his head on a rock. Will he recover?" He questioned as he helped her wrap a new set of bandages on the man's head.

"With proper tending to the wounds and rest, he will. He looks like a strong, young man, so hopefully, but I am more bothered about the hit his head took. I don't know if there will be any side effects from it; with head injuries you can never tell," she replied.

They spent the rest of the day cleansing the injuries and taking out the tiny splinters of wood and fragments of metal that had impaled themselves into his lower legs, stitching the wounds on his abdomen and right leg, and replaced her husband's horrible attempt of a splint on the left arm. They added ointments to the burns that graced his entire body, most were first degree burns. When they finished they assigned Jean to watch over him for the night as a precaution in case his condition worsened in the night. He had a low fever and he had not woken up yet.

"Though, that is because of the head injury," she thought, as they were both on the front porch, enjoying the evening with cups of coffee in both their hands.

"He is not from here, that's for sure," her husband said breaking her out train if thoughts.

"I agree, his attire was rather…unusual," she said. Her husband, with Jean's aide had changed him from out of his clothes into a pair of loose-fitted pajama bottoms, leaving him bare-chested.

"I wonder what he does for a living, it is a shame if he was doing illegal things, especially one as young as him, either that, or he was someone important. Perhaps for personal revenge? Why else try to kill a man?" he said, voicing his theories. "There was a building there and in all my years I have never noticed that it was there, it was well hidden because of the hills surrounding it and the trees helped in covering it up."

"Well, there is only one way to find out and that is to wait until he wakes up," she said, "No need to make assumptions about him, just yet."

"Agreed, but it's best to be cautious," he replied.

"The most important thing right now is for him to recover," she concluded, "it's best if we get inside now it looks like it will rain, strange, don't you think?," she asked as she entered back into the house.

"It is rather strange," he thought as he looked at the sky. It was not the time of year for it to rain yet, it looked like it was. The sky had darkened as grey clouds bunched together and great rumbles of thunder boomed. "But then again, today was a rather strange day."

He went to join his wife inside the house.

The next day when Marie went to check on the injuries, she was astonished to see that the nicks on his lower legs were gone, making her question if there were small lacerations there in the first place. The other wounds looked less severe than the day before, the young man was recovering at a remarkable rate.

A week passed, still surprising her, that by then all his wounds had healed leaving no traces of them being there in the first place. She discussed this enigma with her husband.

"In all my years, I have never seen someone recover from injuries of this extent so quickly." she said. "I wonder if it's some quirk in his DNA that allows his body to recover so fast."

By her "discussing" this with her husband, it meant that he sat there quietly and listened. He wasn't silent because he didn't have anything to say about it but rather he enjoyed watching her spout her musings; sprinkled with medical terms here and there. He enjoyed seeing her eyes sparkle when she talked about her favorite things, which usually happens to be: medical anomalies that enhance human abilities.

The only lingering injury left was his broken arm that guessing by his accelerated healing would completely heal in another week.

He struggled to open his eyes; his eyelids felt heavy, like lead. Finally able to keep his eyes open, he pulled himself into a sitting position. He froze, waiting for the small dizzying spell that inflicted him to subside; he looked around taking in his surroundings. He was in a fairly-sized room, reasonably furnished but it was unfamiliar, unrecognizable. He tried to remember something about the room, if he had been here but nothing. He looked down at his hands, noticing that the left arm was encased in a splint.

"How did I break my arm?" he wondered.

His eye darted to the door as he heard light footsteps approach. The person who entered was a woman in her late fifties, early sixties. She had wrinkles on her face but what made her look beautiful and younger was the kindness and warmth that was expressed on her face.

"Bonjour. Finalement, vous êtes réveillés." She said smiling, and walked in to open the blinds to let the sunlight in.

What? Was that French? He didn't understand what she had said. Well, now he at least knows that he can't speak French. He kept staring out her not noticing time passing; thinking about what she could have said.

"Probably a morning greeting or something close to it" he thought in his head. Taking in her features, he didn't recognize her either. He had no idea who this lady is.

"Parlez-vous français?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I don't understand what you are saying. I don't speak French." he said, wondering what she asked him.

"I can see," she responded, in fluent English. "How are you feeling?"

"Umm...well enough, thank you," he said.

"Does your head hurt?" she asked, going into doctor mode.

"A little," he said, he was still pensively thinking, trying to remember something, anything. "Where am I?" he blurted out, sounding like a lost child.

"You don't remember?" she responded with a question of her own, studying his facial expressions that displayed pure confusion. Her suspicion was growing as to what he may be suffering, yet she waited for him to answer.

"No, ma'am," he said, looking around the room.

"What is your name?" she said.

"My name is...my name...is," he mumbled, his face full of concentration, trying to extract the information from the black abyss that was his mind right now. He had his right hand on his face, frustration beginning to take over. "I can't...remember."

They both remained silent: him, processing the fact that he couldn't remember anything, not even his name and she, not knowing what to tell him. She did not know any personal things about him and so had no information to give him.

"The only thing I could tell you is that you were injured and my husband brought you to our ranch, and I nursed your wounds." she said.

Her husband came in at that moment, looking at their guest, who was finally awake. He glanced from the man to his wife, who had a worried expression on her face.

"He has amnesia," she explained, looking at the person sitting on the bed. He had both his hands on his face, gasping, as he tried to get a grip onto the reality, of him not knowing anything of his past. "He hit his head harder than I thought. His memories may or may not come back at all. Only time will tell."

Pierre had many suspicions of him, but right now this man is injured and he needs help; to at least help him piece the little bit of his life they knew. Having pity for him, he softened, grabbing a set of clothes that they had already prepared for him, he placed them on the bed.

"Here; go take a shower, and come to the dining room for breakfast. I will explain to you where I found and if you are interested in going there to see the place for yourself, I will take you," he said, with a heavy accent. "It might also help, to see, if it could trigger a memory."

"Yes, sir," he replied. He needed answers and knowing where he was during the accident, was the best place to start.

Pierre and Marie both exited the room to give him his privacy.

He grabbed the clothes and made his way to the bathroom. He took a cold shower, trying not to get the splint wet, and got dressed. He wore faded blue jeans, plaid shirt, and brown shoes. He held onto the sides of the sink, looking down. He still hasn't seen his reflection.

He slowly faced himself. He stared and studied his physical features. Blonde hair, blue eyes, chiseled face...he didn't recognize himself.

"Who am I?" he thought. "Will my memories ever come back?" He had a fear right now, the fear of never recovering his memories.

Here he was, thankful for the kindness that was given to him by this benevolent couple who found it in their hearts to nurse him back to health, a stranger with no memories of his past. A stranger not only to them, but to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here is Chapter Four! Yay!**

Chapter Four:

Natasha didn't stay long in the Tower; she just couldn't be there, there were too many memories. The same night they arrived from France, after letting herself release the bottled up storm of emotions within her, she packed her guns and a few changes of clothes and left, slipping into her Black Widow persona. She didn't leave any note for the others, no nothing. She knew it was selfish of her to do that, leaving them hanging, but she wanted to leave there as fast as possible, just for a while; she was constantly reminded of the happy memories.

Of them sparring together and the numerous passionate nights they spent in each other's arms. The memories were all there in their bedroom and in their personal gym on their floor. When they would have their own movie nights together, they would curl next to each other sometimes falling asleep on the couch.

She went to the Helicarrier, requested a mission, and left. Of course, Fury and Hill were very uncertain about letting her go on a mission right away, but she was adamant, so they reluctantly ceded. Plus, having a master assassin angry at them would not be wise...or safe for them.

After her mission in New Zealand, she was en route to the Helicarrier when she promptly accepted another mission that Fury had sent her and changed her course. Finally, completing the mission in Mexico, after being gone for week with no other mission for her to do, she went back home.

During the week, the others were having a hard time coping as well.

"Sir, Mrs. Rogers has returned," stated the AI.

"Thanks JARVIS," Tony replied. He was in his lab, has been, since they arrived from France.

"Finally, she came back," he thought bitterly.

She left. That was all that concerned him. SHE HAD LEFT. His childhood hero and one of his closest friends is dead. Her husband, and yet she continued working, like nothing happened, like the person she vowed to love and cherish didn't just die. No sadness, no tears, no emotions at all.

"Well, I guess she isn't the Black Widow for nothing," he thought as he continued working.

Bruce had been busy trying to contain the Other Guy in. The Hulk was angry, angry that he couldn't do anything to save the Captain. His smashing couldn't fix this problem or ease the hurt of losing someone. Throughout the week, Bruce meditated to keep the Hulk under control and buried himself in his work. It didn't keep his thoughts away from Steve, who he missed.

Clint spent his days in the shooting range. He did not like to feel indebted to anyone. How was he suppose to repay Steve for the complete trust and friendship that he extended to him, when everyone else even his closest friends in SHIELD, didn't? Steve was the perfect example of a friend, but he was more than that; they all were, they were family. He had a make-shift family when he was in the circus, but never one like this. He realized that even though they knew that every mission they accepted could be their last, it still doesn't ease the pain when it eventually did happen.

Thor couldn't wait to return to Midgard. Returning from the mission were they lost the Captain of America, he had to return to Asgard immediately. Now with that problem dealt with, he would finally be allowed to return to his friends and mourn together for the loss of a comrade. Thor enjoyed returning to Asgard and telling tales of the Avengers and their leader, Steven, except this time he had no new stories to tell and no good new either.

They all carried a guilt; a guilt that they were not there to help a friend. Each one felt like it was their fault. Their fault that they didn't go on that mission with him; if they had accompanied him, maybe the outcome would have been different.

Natasha was still exhausted in the morning but made herself get up. She went to the elevator to go to the kitchen where everyone would most likely be there already.

Tony was sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him; arms crossed. Bruce had a cup of tea in both his hands, taking a sip every now and then. Clint was surprisingly not stuffing his face but picking and moving his breakfast around with a fork. They all looked her way when she entered.

Tony gave her a harsh glance and quickly looked away. Bruce, his eyes were green, nodded in her direction and turned to take another sip from his tea. Clint looked at her, his eyes downcast. She noticed the tension in the room, most of it coming from Tony. She hesitated coming closer, but instead walked forward just to get it over with.

The tension was because of all them were experiencing guilt and pain. They all felt the pain of the loss; of never being able to see Steve again. She sat down at the table, and waited. Waited for the tension to erupt...and it did. Like animals when they are hurt, they began lashing at each other. They knew each other's faults, so every insult they hurled at one another stung because the recipient of it knew it was the truth and that just made it worse; it was mostly Tony and Natasha going at it, while Bruce tried to keep the Hulk from coming out and Clint trying to calm them both before they said anything they might regret later.

"JARVIS, SHOWS MORE FREAKIN' EMOTIONS THAN YOU!" Tony yelled at Natasha, not caring that she could kill him any second. "HONESTLY, DO YOU EVEN CARE THAT HE IS GONE?"

Bruce had his hand on the bridge of nose and was taking slow breathes.

"HEY," Clint began, "C'MON GUYS, ST-"

"OF COURSE," she retorted, "HE WAS MY HUSBAND-"

"EXACTLY! YET, YOU LEAVE FOR A WEEK, LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED!"He cut in.

They were too concentrated in their bickering that they did not notice when Thor entered from the balcony, having just arrived from Asgard.

"YOU'RE SO DAMN HEARTLESS," Tony continued.

"YOU ARROGANT ASSH-," Natasha began.

"ENOUGH!" Thor boomed. He couldn't believe that they were fighting.

The group of four turned to face Thor. His face was stern, looking and acting so different from his usual attitude that he was always in when he was with them. He was usually jovial, with a wide grin constantly plastered on his face, especially when there was food or alcohol involved, but not right now. For once he looked like the prince that he was, looking regal with his Asgardian attire and with a hard look that dared them to say another word.

"Is this how we remember a fallen friend, a brother-in-arms?" He questioned. "Is this how we will honor the memory of Steven, by fighting amongst ourselves?"

Clint and Bruce both turned their gazes to Tony and Natasha, who were both looking at each other. Tony was shamefaced while Natasha was desperately grasping to her emotionless mask as it slipped not wanting them to see how destroyed she actually was. She didn't want them to see her weak.

Tony saw the slip. He saw the brief flash of pain that was in her eyes, and immediately regretted everything he had said to her. She was grieving as well but she hid her pain so much better than the rest of them, and his own guilt and grief had made him blind to her suffering. He watched as she turned and strode off into the elevator.

She was on the couch in the living room, clothed in one of Steve's t-shirts that still smelled like him. It was the middle of the night and Natasha couldn't fall asleep. It was the same nightmare that has been plaguing her all week; Steve inside the building being engulfed in flames.

Tony was in his lab, not knowing how to begin to make amends to Natasha. He was lucky that Pepper was out on business for the past week; he told her about Steve being gone. She wanted to return home immediately, but it wasn't possible. She wanted to be there for them, especially Natasha. If she found out what he had said; she would make him feel even more ashamed than what he was already feeling. Then an idea came to him, Steve said that Natasha had a weakness for a dessert, he always made it whenever she was upset.

"Now what was it?" He wondered.

She heard the elevator door open onto her floor and saw Tony exit with a plate on one hand and a glass of milk in the other. He slowed down and was surprised when he saw her on her make-shift bed on the couch. The smell from the plate was permeating throughout the air, the chocolate smell of a crêpe stuffed with strawberry and Nutella; her favorite.

"Damn it," she said in her mind, knowing Steve must have told Tony about her fondness for it as a way for them to forgive each other easier. She knew Tony's weakness, blueberry pie. Steve had told her once that she and Tony didn't get along that much because they were too much alike; they each had a mask that covered what they were truly feeling. They had that brother-sister relationship were they would constantly be fighting, but if someone had the audacity to hurt one of them, the other would rush to defend them.

Tony stood still, hesitating, not knowing how to proceed for all he knew she had a knife in between those blankets with his name on it.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," she responded. She moved her blankets and scooted over so that he could sit down.

Taking the hint, he walked over and sat next to her while he handed her the plate, a peace offering.

"Here," he said. He held onto the glass while she ate the crêpe and then switched and watched as she drank the glass of milk. He took the glass and the plate and set them both on the coffee table.

"Thanks," she said. He leaned back into the couch and encircled one of his arm around her, his hand resting on her upper arm, and she leaned in resting her head on his shoulder.

"I didn't leave because I didn't care." Natasha began.

"I know," he said. "I was just dumb enough not to see. I can sometimes be an idiot."

"I know," she said. "I left because I felt my emotionless wall breaking and I don't want that. How am I to avenge Steve and punish the people who did this when I can't keep a clear head? We both know that keeping a clear head is imperative when dealing with those kinds of people, so I left to help me detach myself a little bit from this, because it's too personal. I also left because there were too many memories of us here and it hurts." Her eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

"I am truly sorry little Red. I was out of line," he apologized, as he listened as she began sniffling. "Way out of line."

"Apology accepted. I-I just really miss him," she said struggling with the lump in her throat.

"Me too," he said, struggling with his own emotions. "You know, you can let it out, Red."

She shook her head because she was the Black Widow after all and showing her emotions in from of other people was not her thing; the only people that she has allowed to see her in that state was Steve and Clint.

"You are not weak if you cry in front of others," he continued, not knowing that he had hit the mark; tears threatening to drop from his own cheeks. "Someone once told me, although I thought it was total BS until now, that 'Tears are how our heart speaks when our lips cannot describe how much we've been hurt', so just let it out."

So she did; they both did. He had his own head leaning on top of hers, rubbing her arm, with tears running down his cheeks. They heard footsteps coming their way into the living room. It was the other guys. Clint went and sat next to her, leaned his head on her other shoulder. Thor and Bruce both brought chairs and placed them in front of Natasha. They both sat down and each took a firm hold of one of her hands. They joined and soon had tears cascading down their own cheeks, as they all mourned for the loss of one of their own.

For the first time that week, she was able to sleep through the night. She woke up to the steady heartbeat of Tony's chest. When she woke up there was a blanket covering the three of them that were on the couch. She saw Bruce with his head bent down, his chin to his chest; his fingers were laced together on his stomach. He had a blanket thrown over his lap. It did not look like a very comfortable sleeping position. Thor also had a blanket, but he had his head bent back; mouth wide opened. His snoring sounded like a chainsaw, not knowing how she and rest of the others were able to sleep through it. She was grateful for them, her brothers, for being with her. She also felt relief, from the burden of keeping her emotions in, for them accepting that and not seeing her as a weak person but joining in with their own.

She tried to gently pry herself out of there, and after a couple of minutes she succeeded. Clint had lifted his head from her shoulder and leaned the other way resting his head on the armrest. As she was almost in her room, Tony's voice stopped her.

"I need you to come to the lab later." he said sleepily."It's about the bomb that was used."

"Ok," she replied, and headed inside, unsure if she wanted to know the details of the thing that killed Steve.

Tony grabbed the some of the blanket and threw it over his shoulder; he soon started falling back to sleep. Minutes later, Clint began to feel cold and pulled more of the blanket to himself, causing the blanket to fall off of Tony's shoulder. A tug-of-war soon began between them until they finally gave up and woke up.

It was noon, when Natasha went to Tony's lab.

"Here," Tony said, as he slid a file on the table towards her.

She opened it and found herself looking at complex names of the ingredients used in the bomb.

"Translation," she inquired.

"It was a thermobaric bomb," Tony answered. "This bomb has two explosions. The first one is a fire blast and the second blast is a blast wave. You know, the force released from a blast except, this one had its own twist to it. It's tandem-charged, which is the amount of time in between the first blast and second was decreased. So, what happened was that it was able to merge those two blasts together into a pressurized fire wave."

"So how is this going to help us?" She asked, swallowing hard, her breakfast threatening to come back up.

"There are only two countries that work with this, the U.S. and Russia; although, Russia has done extensive work on making different variants of this weapon." He started to explain. "In 2007, they were able to successfully explode the largest thermobaric bomb ever made in response to the U.S.'s "MOAB". Anyways this one was a very small explosive compared to those two, baby-sized compared to them, but still powerful. The warehouse was a good choice but not the best. It works more perfectly in caves, but the building was able to be a substitute. I am still reconstructing it so I can see what model it is. I really doubt that the U.S. would want to bomb their patriotic emblem, but we still need to look into it just to make sure and as for Russia, I am not too sure about that. I don't think that Cap would've had any enemies from there."

"He doesn't, but I still do" Natasha said, unnerved.

"Well, whoever it is they are going to pay," promised Tony, "either way the reconstruction will be done in three to four hours give or take."

"I'll be in the gym," she replied. She wanted to be at her best when they would start searching for the person responsible.

She ignored the nausea that had hit her earlier and began her exercise. She was thirty minutes into her workout when she began to feel lightheaded and staggered a bit when trying to keep her balance. She held onto the punching bag to keep her steady but her dizziness was too much. She slumped to floor; blacking out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I apologize for the long wait, again. I was writing out the outline for the whole entire story that way it would be somewhat easier for me to write chapters and hence faster updates. Btw: I noticed that there wasn't a lot to practically no fan art for this pair. Which is such a shame, we got to have drawings for this lovely pair. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't any of these characters, except Pierre, Marie, and Jean. This disclaimer also covers Ch.4.**

**P.S: Have any questions about this (as long as it's not any question about the contents of future chapters) feel free to ask, I have read some your suggestions and I have actually taken some and added them into the story.**

Chapter Five:

The three of them were in sitting in the dining room, finishing their cups of coffee.

"You can work on our farm," Pierre offered, "meanwhile you finish recovering. If you accept, you will receive the same wages as Jean and the others."

"Thank you, sir. I will accept the offer of working on your farm but I must decline on receiving pay for it. It is the least I could do for saving my life." He said. He was indebted to them and working for them was the least he could do.

Pierre and Marie exchanged glances. Pierre will definitely pay him but he looked at the stubborn expression on the young man, who was expecting him to negate his offer.

"Very well." Pierre said, accepting for now. He did not think it was right for him to receive free labor for a kindness that he gave to him. He saved his life because it is simply what one must do; extend a hand to help another in need. He was also stubborn, but he knew that it wasn't the moment.

"So, what do you want us to call you?" Marie asked him.

"Umm...I have no idea, ma'am," he responded.

They all sat there quietly until Pierre and Marie started throwing out suggestions. To him, the names were nice but sounded like mouthfuls and were too fancy for his taste. He wanted something simple that he wouldn't get attached to, just in case he remembers.

"Samuel?" Marie suggested. "Sam?"

"Sam." He repeated. He liked it.

"Like Uncle Sam." He joked. As he kept repeating the name over and over in his head, testing it out, a memory seeped into his brain.

_He was standing in a crowd. They were looking in the same direction, applauding for something, their clothes looked outdated. He was looking the other way, at a recruitment poster of Uncle Sam. His view was also lower, like if he was shorter, which was strange to him because he was tall person. The clothes that the people were wearing were more conservative and also looked like the kind of clothes he preferred himself._

He looked up and saw that Pierre was waiting for him to answer something.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that." He said.

"Do you want to go to the place where I found you?" He repeated.

"Yes, please," he replied.

Sam thanked Marie for breakfast and left with Pierre.

During the car ride, he was quiet and kept his eyes on the landscape. His thoughts were still on the memory. He knew that it was 2016, but in his memory, the style of the people and the inside of the building looked decades old, and the thing that troubled him the most was that he knew it was _**his**_ memory. That he was there, in that place full of people, and it looked like a different time, a different world.

Pierre kept sending swift glances towards the young gentleman, who was quietly looking outside his window.

"Sam" Pierre reminded himself. He was uncertain about Sam at first but during breakfast when they conversed with each other, he slowly came to like the young man. He seemed like an honest and respectable man, far different than the young men of today.

When they arrived, Pierre stayed inside the car wanting to give Sam his privacy.

Sam stepped out of the truck and walked towards the remains of site...or what was left of it. It looked like someone had cleared away the wreckage leaving only shards and pieces of wood and metal. The ground was blackened and ash was strewn around as well.

He looked at what was left. He had hoped that by coming to the place where he lost his memories he would gain them back, but his mind was still a blank slate. He stood there, feeling more despair that his memories still evaded him. He walked back to the truck with a defeated look on his face.

Pierre saw the look on Sam's face and felt sorrow for him; thinking that if he was in his shoes he would have handled the situation much worse. He turned on the truck and kept on going straight instead of turning around back towards the farm.

Sam didn't notice until the truck came to a complete stop.

"How did we get back so fast?" He thought, looking up and seeing a river instead of the house.

"Where are we?" He asked.

"We are just a little farther down the road, I haven't had the time to come and fish, since the day I found you." Pierre responded. "And now, I will have a higher chance of catching more fishes with you to help."

Pierre fixed both their baits and handed Sam his fishing pole.

Sam began to feel better, more relaxed as he took the scenery in, patiently waiting for the fish to bite.

"Fishing is good therapy," Pierre said, breaking the silence.

"I agree, sir," Sam replied, the place was beautiful and tranquil. He liked that it was peaceful, and he sensed that he had never spent time like this, just letting time fly by.

It was evening when they made their way back to the farm. They had a made a stop into the village to buy some extra ingredients that they would need to prepare the fish, while they were there Pierre showed him the small shops and the medical center. He listened as Pierre told him of how he and his wife helped to create it. As they sat for dinner, he enjoyed himself in the company of Marie, Pierre, and Jean, but in the back of his mind he wondered if he had family or people who he shared meals with just like this, before his accident.

Afterwards, he helped Marie wash and dry the dishes that they had used for dinner.

"I have something for you, Sam," she said once they were done. She opened a drawer and gave him an empty journal and pens. "It's so you can write down anything that you remember. It will help."

"How?" He asked.

"Every page that you fill with memories will show the progress you are making in recovering." She said.

"And if I remember nothing?" He questioned. It was a constant fear that he has had ever since he woke up. Other than the poster, he didn't remember anything else.

"Then fill it with new memories," she suggested. She looked at Sam, wishing fervently in her mind that he will recover.

Later in the night, he was in the guest room and was contemplating whether he should write in the book. He didn't have anything to lose so he picked up one of the pens and began to write about his memory of the recruitment poster that displayed Uncle Sam. He began to doodle; eventually a drawing of the poster came into view.

During the week, he aided them in simple tasks here and there. He was able to learn things about himself from the things he did. He helped Marie in the kitchen, learning that he had some experience with cooking. He helped her move around some things around the house although she didn't want him to carry anything heavy since he could only use one arm, but everything he carried in his one hand felt weightless, feather light. He was able to figure out that he was exceedingly strong, stronger than all of them and they were surprised when he showed them how much he was capable of carrying. He also began to carry his journal around and drew pictures of everything he would see.

It was towards the end of week when Pierre gave Sam his pay.

"I can't accept that, sir," he responded. "I'm working because I owe you a debt."

"You do not owe me anything," Pierre replied, looking straight into Sam's eyes.

"I can't accept that," he repeated keeping his gaze steady. He shouldn't accept this money and he wouldn't; it didn't feel right. He was saved from the persistence of Pierre when Marie called his name for help.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, not wanting to be rude, as he exited the room.

Pierre tried several more times during the day, eventually he simply resigned himself to keeping the money in an envelope and every time it was time to pay Jean and the other workers he would put Sam's cut in the envelope, holding it and waiting for the right opportunity to give it to him.

Other than the memory Sam had of the recruitment poster there had been no other ones just some subconscious habits that were ingrained in him, like he would wake up early. Earlier than everybody, so while everybody else was still in their last minutes of sleep he would look out his window and watch the sky, in particular, the moon. Seeing as no other memories were coming back, he slowly began to accept it. He accepted the possibility of never recovering his memories. The only thing for him was for him to move on, to begin a new life. So far, his new life with Marie, Pierre, and Jean was going well. Marie and Pierre acted like grandparents and Jean was around his age so they were able to get along as well, although he said some references and talked about people that he was unfamiliar with.

The day finally came when Marie would remove his splint and he had been looking forward to it the whole week. She began to carefully, unwrap the bandages and removed the other things that were covering his hand and arm. After making him move his arm, wrist and fingers in certain positions and exercises she finally gave him clearance. She left to throw the bandages away.

He kept on looking at his hand, studying it, when a tan line on one of his fingers caught his eye. The strip of skin was lighter than the rest of hand, and it was located on his ring finger.

It just came to him, so easily. He knew he wore a ring. He knew where he would place his ring when he wasn't wearing it and it was on his necklace. He looked just to check if he was wearing a necklace. He remembered this habit; his habit. He would always put on his necklace, but where was his necklace?

Pierre and Marie were in the sitting room, each with reading glasses and a book in their hands. They both looked up, when they saw Sam standing there with his left hand held out. He had a troubled expression on his face.

"Pierre, when you found me was there a necklace nearby?" he asked.

"It is possible, I didn't really look around because the smoke was too dense for me to see clearly," he replied. "Why?"

"I think I might be married." He said.

Marie gasped. This just made things much more complicated. There was a woman out there right now, who was grieving; thinking that her husband was dead. Pierre led out a loud sigh; this new piece of information just added more pressure onto Sam for him to recover his memories.

Sam showed them the tan that was the physical evidence of what he had said.

"There isn't much we can do, until you remember," Pierre said.

They both saw the growing frustration on Sam's face. He began pacing in the room, running his hand through his hair in frustration, messing his hair which was always neatly combed.

"It's my fault that I can't remember," he began. "I am not trying hard enough to remember."

"It's not your fault," Marie said. "Amnesia is filled with so many uncertainties, and the more you try to remember the less likely you will."

"I have a wife that I forgot." He said, continuing his tirade. "What can of husband does that make me?"

They both remained silent as they continued to look at Sam with worried expressions.

They let him continue and eventually he finally sank into one of the armchairs with both his hads covering his face.

After receiving permission from Pierre, he left back to the site, already familiar with the roads. He learned that he could drive as well. He mentally reminded himself to write down all his habits into the journal as well. The idea of someone grieving for him while he was still alive made his insides turn. He felt like that has happened before and he does not want it to be repeated.

His search yielded no results, but he wasn't letting this bring him down. The revelation of him being married has given him a new urgency to remember and he will try to find a way to remember. He was determined; and he was sure that he will not stop until he recovers his memories and eventually his old life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I drew a cover for this story but I'm not going to finish it with facial details because I am terrible at it. Anyways, here is Chapter Six! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of the Marvel characters.**

Chapter Six:

"Mrs. Rogers's vital signs are normal," the AI stated.

Everybody relaxed. They were slightly on edge, they had lost Steve and they didn't want to lose Natasha too. JARVIS had informed all of them that Mrs. Rogers had collapsed at the gym. Clint had gone to the gym, scooped her in his arms, and took her to Bruce's lab, where everybody else was already there. Clint had gently placed her on the sofa that was in the lab. Tony had asked JARVIS to scan her and they were now waiting for her to regain consciousness.

Her head was pounding. She tried raising her head up, but she was overwhelmed by the dizziness so she gave up and rested her head back down. She tried again to lift herself up to a sitting position but someone placed their hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her to lie down again.

"It's better if you remain laying down," Bruce advised.

She blinked several times waiting for her eyes to get use to the lighting, as Clint, who was the one that made her lay back down, Tony, Thor, and Bruce, all came into focus.

"How long was I out?" She asked, pressing the heels of hands against her forehead.

"Not long, less than three minutes," Clint answered, watching her with worried eyes.

"How do you feel?" Bruce asked.

"It's not that serious," she replied, trying to play it down. "I just feel a little queasy and my head hurts like the devil." She slowly got up and succeeding in getting into a sitting position.

"What foods have you have consumed the past couple of days?"Bruce asked.

"I didn't poison you!" Tony exclaimed, raising his hands up to portray his innocence, he had already experienced numerous injuries from pulling pranks and cracking jokes about her or Steve. He did not want her to retaliate; he would start playing pranks on her again when he had finished his escape routes out of every room in the Tower.

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony as she answered Bruce's question. "Just a crêpe."

"And?" He pressed.

"Some tacos in Mexico." She answered.

"And when was that?" Bruce asked, dreading to hear the answer.

"Thursday...I think," she said.

"You haven't eaten in three days!?" Clint said, alarmed.

"Technically, not since last night," Tony interjected. Again she rolled her eyes at him while the others sent light glares in his direction.

"Lady Natasha, 'tis not wise to forgo alimentation," Thor said.

"He's right, what about sleep?" Bruce asked.

"I slept for five hours before I left New Zealand and then two more times in Mexico both three hours long." She said, knowing that they would disapprove and she was correct when she saw the looks on their faces.

"I think I will take a blood sample, just to check if everything is okay." Bruce said, going to get the medical supplies needed. "For sure, is that I'm calling Fury and tell him I'm medically withholding you from any future missions, you need to rest."

"Fine," she said, for once not fighting against being put on the sidelines. "Only for a few days."

"A week," Bruce corrected her.

"Fine. No blood sample." Natasha said.

"Very well." Bruce accepted.

Natasha, with Clint's help, got up from the couch and headed to her room to sleep for a few hours.

Tony, Bruce, and Thor exchanged troubled glances with each other. They were alarmed that Natasha had acquiesced for medical leave so easily. One of the things that she hated the most was the recovery time needed after receiving an injury.

It was early evening when she woke up and headed to the elevator to go to the kitchen. Bruce and Clint were cooking dinner while Tony "supervised" from the dining table. When they placed her plate in front of her, she ate slowly and tentatively; her stomach still felt uneasy.

Over the next couple of days, Bruce observed Natasha; noticing the disgusted looks she quickly gave to foods that she liked to eat and he saw her run rather quickly to the bathroom several times. When she would return, she always looked pale and exhausted.

Bruce confronted her about it when they were alone. Natasha was flipping through the channels looking for something interesting to watch. He had a book in his hands and was comfortably sitting in the armchair that he preferred. Tony, Clint, and Thor had gone for a night of drinking.

"You're pregnant," he stated.

"And here I thought it was food poisoning," she said sarcastically.

"If Tony was cooking, but Clint is not bad," he said. He closed his book, rose from his seat, and crouched in front of her. "Are you scared, that you might be pregnant?"

"Terrified," she admitted. The possibility of being pregnant had been swimming around in her head since she kept throwing up in the mornings and getting nausea to some of her favorite foods. She had also started getting cravings for weird combinations of food. She had once eaten crackers with pickles and canned cheese in front of Clint. She was enjoying her snack when she looked over at Clint, who had stopped eating and looked at her snack in disgust.

"Come on, I need a blood sample." He said, rising up and heading towards his lab; she stood up and followed him.

"Man, I can't believe they kicked us out." Tony whined. "It's not even midnight, thanks a lot Goldilocks and you too, Birdbrain."

"I apologize Man of Iron," Thor said. He was also bummed out that they had been removed from the premises. "How was I supposed to know that he was the owner of the establishment?"

Clint, on the other hand, was dying of laughter over what had happened. They were all beginning one of their drinking games when they began to dare each other, which never ended well. He had dared Thor to pants a person that he had chosen at random; turns out it was the owner of the bar. After the owner had flushed red in anger, he ordered his men to kick them out. They could have handled them, but they chose to leave. After an incident that caused a big scene in Vegas, they did not want to be reprimanded by Fury again, if he found out. And since it was Fury they were talking about they knew he would find out.

They all entered the elevator and began their ride up to the top levels.

"JARVIS, where are Bruce and Natasha?" He asked.

"They are currently in Dr. Banner's lab," he answered.

"Take us to his floor then," Tony commanded.

"Yes, sir." The AI replied.

They all walked into Bruce's lab where Natasha was sitting on one of the tables. She had her left hand bent, her fingertips resting on her shoulder, while her right hand held onto her wrist. They saw the white gauze that was placed on her inner elbow. Bruce was standing next to her, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. They both looked up when they heard the trio enter.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

Bruce looked at Natasha, waiting for her to answer the question.

"Bruce took a blood sample so that he can test it," she informed them. "A pregnancy test."

"What?" Tony and Clint said in unison.

"JARVIS is analyzing the blood sample, right now," Bruce said.

"When are the results coming out?" Tony questioned.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders.

"JARVIS?" Tony inquired.

"Blood Analysis 74% complete," JARVIS answered. "Analysis shall be complete in one minute."

The minute took an eternity, and everybody was anxious to hear the results. Thor was ecstatic of the prospect of a child being born to the Avengers; they would have to celebrate this wonderful addition to their family. Clint was looking at Natasha who was staring off into space. He was happy for her but he knew that something else was also in her mind. Tony was tapping his foot impatiently, imagining a min-Rogers running around the Tower.

"HCG levels indicate that Mrs. Rogers is around 6-8 weeks along," JARVIS announced.

"Yeah, a mini-Avenger!" Tony said.

Tony, Clint, and Thor had gigantic smiles plastered on their faces but they faltered as they took in Natasha's conflicted one. Everybody's thoughts were all gathered on one person: Steve. He would never meet his child and vice versa.

"Don't worry Little Red, we have your back," Tony said, and the others nodded their heads vehemently in agreement. "We won't let anything happen to the baby."

She was conflicted about keeping the child. She wasn't the right person to be a mother. She would have done it if Steve was there to help her, but he wasn't. A part of her wanted to keep the child because it was half Steve and it was the only piece that she will have of him. On the other hand, the baby would grow up without a father and also only be raised by her: the Black Widow. There would also be the constant fear for her child's safety; she and Steve had enemies that might hurt the baby. Also, the people that killed Steve, she still had to deal with them. She couldn't let that go; because of them, the child she was now carrying was fatherless. She had to talk to Tony about the bomb and the person who was behind it.

She went and hugged each one of them; letting that hug express the gratitude that words couldn't.

When she went to hugged Clint, he knew what was going around in her head.

"You can do this," he whispered quietly, so that the others couldn't hear, "I've never seen you fail anything that you put your mind to." Here was his chance to pay back the captain, by helping his child in whatever it would need.

With those words of encouragement from Clint and the support of the others, she will do this. Not only for herself and Steve but for the child that was on its' way.

"We can do an ultrasound tomorrow, to see exactly how far along you are," Bruce said.

She nodded her head in agreement and they all left the lab and headed to their rooms to sleep.

The next day she was able to speak to Tony alone.

"Did you find out who made the bomb?" she asked.

Tony was hesitant, he knew but he wasn't sure if he should tell her. She was with child and right now it didn't seem like the perfect time to exact revenge. He was not about to let her go in the state that she was in.

"Well, I do know who made it but promise me you won't go after them until the baby is born." Tony said. "I know that you are the type of person that needs revenge so I'm not asking you to stop looking for Steve's murderers, just telling you to put it on hold."

"Can't make that promise," she admitted.

"Then let me and others go and we will do it for you." Tony said, attempting to persuade her.

"No, I need to go, I need to be there." She insisted.

Tony let out a heavy sigh and despite his better judgment he gave in. "It was Russian, so who can it be?"

She knew it, deep down she already knew it. It couldn't be anybody else, of course it could be someone else but the possibility of it was highly unlikely. There were Russian mobs that wanted revenge against her but they were not that idiotic or strong enough to actually attack for fear of her wrath.

"The Red Room," she answered.

"That's where they trained you, right?" He asked. He had broken into SHIELD and looked at everybody's background. The Avengers and SHIELD knew little of her past, the background information they had in her file was vague. She never really told anybody about it and may God protect the person who had the nerve to ask her about it. He wondered if she had told Steve but then again that wasn't his business.

She nodded her head. "This attack is different though, if they wanted revenge against me for defecting then they would have tried to kidnap me. They have their pride and they would have wanted my death to be slow and painful. They wouldn't have settled for people close to me."

"Well, they probably changed tactics."

"Maybe but its highly unlikely. They enjoy torturing people too much, so even if they wanted Steve, to use him against me, they would have kept him alive to lure me to go and save him."

"True but either way, right now we can't do anything about it. We are going to have to wait until the baby is born, and then continue this vendetta."

"We can do this right now before I get big and useless," she pressed.

"We can but we won't," Tony said, he was dead serious.

"Why?"

"I am doing it for, Capsicle." He answered honestly. "He would have all our heads on a silver platter if he knew we let you do something this dangerous while pregnant. What if something happened to you and the kid; and also it's to have someone to come back to. Red, don't play dumb or try to lie yourself out of it. I know that after we had our revenge, you would have disappeared."

She looked at him not even attempting to deny it. He was right; she would have left the Tower. Tony was being the wise one right now and she blames it on the pregnancy.

"You're right," she agreed.

He nodded his head, not rubbing it in her face like he would have usually done.

"Mrs. Rogers, Dr. Banner is ready for the ultrasound when you are." JARVIS announced.

"Tell him, we're going right now." Tony answered.

"Yes, Master Stark," JARVIS said.

"Ready to see Baby America?" he asked.

Natasha gave Tony an annoyed look, of course he would have found a nickname for her child already.

They entered Bruce's lab, where Bruce, Clint and Thor were waiting for them. They were all mesmerized by the sound of the rapid heartbeat and their eyes were glued to the screen were they saw the fetus.

"Midgardian technology is truly amazing," Thor said, fascinated. "To have a chance to be able to see a child while still in its mother's womb."

"Do I see a shield?" Tony joked.

"No, I see a pair of knives," Clint said, going along with it.

Natasha looked at the screen. To be told that she was pregnant was one thing but actually seeing it just made it even more real. She turned her head to see the others' faces of wonderment. The only thing that would have made this moment better was if Steve was here with them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Again, sorry for the long wait; was not able to update due to unforeseen circumstances. As for the gender of their baby, I'm unsure of which to pick. Enjoy Chapter Seven. **

**P.S. Many Thanks for the Reviews, You Guys are Amazing!**

Chapter Seven:

Sam sniffed the cinnamon carefully so that he wouldn't inhale the powdered spice. He concentrated on its sweet, earthy scent. It reminded of a certain dessert his mother would always bake for him because it was his favorite.

"Apple pies," he said, to Marie. They were sitting in the dining room table and he smelled that particular spice for a reason. Marie thought it would help trigger something and so they chose a different spice every day, the ones they had tried the previous days had resulted in nothing. With the cinnamon finally resulting in something, he was elated; this was progress. They tried one spice every other day, just in case one of them brought unpleasant memories with it; they were just being cautious.

"My mother would bake apple pies, not all the time, but when she did; they were delicious and I would help," he said, as the memory soon formed in his head. They were in the kitchen, working for the sweet reward that will come from all their hard work. He remembered, by the time they were done their aprons and his hair was covered in a light dusting of flour.

"That's sweet," Marie said. "Do you remember anything else about her?"

"She was the one that taught me how to cook," he added. "She got sick, real sick, though and passed away; I then went to an orphanage."

"I'm sorry," she said, patting his hand in a motherly way.

"It was a long time ago," he said, trying to change the slowly saddening atmosphere of the room.

He didn't tell her about the time those memories took place though. The style of both their attires looked like the same style from the other memory he had the previous week; of him looking at a WWII poster. At first he was disconcerted about the time difference of the memory, but soon he felt other emotions; he remembered he used to feel longing to return to that time. To return to the time he used to call home. He would have to wait until he remembers everything, for an explanation of the differences in time from his memories and the present.

The rest of the day past, and it was early evening when Pierre began to pressure Sam to go and have some fun by going with Jean and some of the other workers to the local bar in the village.

"Go and relax." Pierre encouraged. "You have worked hard, go enjoy yourself a drink. I have to remind you though that you are married." He was not surprised of the numerous glances the women in the village have been casting at Sam, when he accompanied him or Marie; he was blessed with very good looks. They fawned over him incessantly and Pierre had to shoo them away from him; Sam, himself, was constantly voicing his married status but they were undeterred.

"No need to remind me, sir," Sam chuckled. "I said those vows for a reason and I'm not breaking them because of a little memory loss."

Pierre knew that; Sam was a man of honor.

"Besides, I don't think I will receive a warm welcoming if she found out if I did break them." Sam added. He didn't remember her, her physical features or her character. Although he had no memories of her, he felt that he would not live another day if he ever betrayed her in that way and something tugs in his head that she will have help from others.

Ever since he discovered that he had a wife; his thoughts often wandered to her. He was filled with so many questions about her; about them. The questions that he wondered about were simple: How was she like, how did she look, what was their married life like? When he thinks about his wife he feels tenderness and longing to see her. He wanted to know more about her, he wanted to remember her.

"Are you ready?" Jean asked, entering the sitting room.

Pierre looked over at Sam, who had decided to acquiesce.

"I guess so," Sam said, rising from his seat.

Sam was behind the group, taking his time as they made their way towards the bar. The evening was nice and people were strolling around, enjoying the nice weather. They were walking by an alley when the sound of an altercation stops him in his tracks. He enters the alley without bothering to inform the others.

The scuffling gets louder as he gets closer he sees two teenagers. He wouldn't call it a fight, because it was only one of them that was throwing punches and the other had his arms up in defense, but it was fruitless; he was still getting beat up pretty badly. He gets flashes of him being in situations like the one he was witnessing right now. The memories flood his mind; of getting beaten numerous times by bullies. The punches that were thrown and the kicks that he received when he had fallen to the ground.

He shakes himself out of the montage of flashbacks when he hears a heavy slam and sees the scrawnier kid being pummeled onto the ground and he can't bear watching it any more. He grabs the brawny kid by the collar of his shirt to keep him at bay from continuing his assault, but he doesn't have a good grip on him and he gets free. The kid took one look at Sam, all sculpted muscles, his eyes widened with panic, and he immediately fled.

"Coward," Sam thinks angrily, taking one last glance at the running figure. He knows he was perfectly capable of running after him but he chose to remain to make sure the teenager that was on receiving end of the punches was well. He turned his attention to him, he was clutching his bloody nose with one hand, and Sam extended his hand to help him up. After helping the lad up, who was staring at him with immense gratitude; he handed him a handkerchief for the bloody nose.

While they were walking towards the entrance of the alley, the teenager kept a constant stream of thanks.

"It was nothing," Sam said.

"Yeah, but why?" He asked. "You're not even from here." He didn't want to sound rude but he was just curious; usually he had seen people look the other way, even people he knew. He knew this man worked for Pierre, he had seen him around. The boy had a childlike curiosity to know who the new person was like.

"I know," Sam replied. ""But I don't like bullies; I don't care where they're from."

When the last word rolls off his tongue, he gets the feeling that he has said this words to someone else, but who?

"I bet you never got beat up when you where my age, huh?"

Sam thought about one of the numerous beatings his mind had conjured up.

He was in an alley getting beaten by a man who was bigger and stronger than him, but then again it also could have been that he was smaller than he was right now and he didn't know how the change in his physique happened.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" The guy sneered.

"I can do this all day." He simply replied.

He looked at the kid, who was waiting for answer.

"Actually, I used to get beat up a lot, as well," he said.

"Really," the boy replied, with a mixture of surprise and doubt.

"Honest, my name's Sam." He said, introducing himself extending his right hand.

"Edmund," he said, shaking Sam's hand.

After saying their farewells, Sam was reunited with Jean and the others who had retraced their steps to look for him.

He again opted to linger behind the others; giving him the time to dwell on the memories he had recovered.

_He was sitting in a car and was looking outside; at the buildings they passed, with its many shops, as they moved through the traffic._

"I know this neighborhood. I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner."

He was still looking out the window when he was asked a question; the voice was light, feminine and laced with a British accent.

"Did you something against running away?"

"You start running they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can't say no forever, right?" He replied.  
  
He agreed with his before-the-accident self and he had another entry for his journal; he hated bullies. What he had seen earlier, made his insides boil with anger. He hated that people would take advantage over others who were weaker, he wanted to do something; to help stop occurrences like this.

"One, two, three!" Jean yelled.

Sam quickly grabbed his pint of beer and began to chug it's content down. Jean and the workers were rooting for him as they watched.

_"Go Capsicle! Go Goldilocks!"_

He was watching a man who was surprisingly bigger than him with a beard and long, blonde hair they were also in a drinking challenge. He felt kinship in this memory, as if he were surrounded by people he loved.  
  
He almost choked on his beer but he was able to get back on track. Throwing sideway glances at his opponent, he continued gulping the beverage. As the last few drops past his lips, he placed his glass back on to counter; Jean and the others' cheers grew louder, seeing that he had won.

His opponent stopped drinking and slammed his glass down, still containing around half of its contents, muttering a few curses. He grudgingly gave Sam the amount of money they had bet, and left to the other side of the bar.

"How are you feeling?" Jean asked, amazed. He had convinced Sam to partake in drinking games and watched as he defeated his challengers with ease. He also looked unfazed by the vast amount of alcohol he had just drunk.

"Fine," he replied, and he was. The only reason he continued to accept the drinking challenges was not for the money, but for the reason that he realized that the alcohol had no effect on him; he was not even tipsy. He wondered why he couldn't get inebriated, but because of his amnesia, he was clueless. The cheering from his memories was one of the first ones that he had that looked like it was from this timeline.

"More puzzles to solve," he thought.

When he is in his room later that night, he adds the new revelations in his journal. He feels his list of questions growing longer and longer and the answers to them still hidden in the recesses of his mind.

He lies down on his bed as he lets sleep overtake him. He replays the memories he has gained over and over, not only to lull him to sleep, but because he was afraid that he will lose the memories when he wakes up tomorrow.

_"You just don't know when to give up, do you?"_

"I can do this all day."

As the guy is about to give him another punch, someone stops him and he takes the guy out. The guy looks up to see him; dressed in a military uniform.

"Bucky," he whispers in the night, he quickly gets up and hurries to his journal drawing the face and writing the name of the man. He looks dashing in his military uniform; Sam studies the sketch of the man he drew. He erases and redraws the man's eyes; knowing that there is always a hint of troublemaking in his eyes. That was all he knew, his nickname; not his full name, but still he'd take what he can get.

He was content that he had made so much progress in a day; he had to thank Pierre for another thing; for making him go. He kept flipping through the journal; seeing how much he had progressed; he needed to thank Marie for this too. Seeing his progress made him feel that not all was lost; he simply had to wait.

He goes to sleep, as the scenes of Bucky and him at the orphanage, the numerous shenanigans he was pulled in by Bucky, played through his mind; and when he leaves to war.

"_Don't do anything stupid until I get back."Bucky advises._

"_How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you." He retorts._

"_You're a punk." Bucky says, coming back and embracing him in one last hug._

"_Jerk. Be careful." He says, watching his best friend leave. "Don't win the war till I get there!" He adds. _

_Bucky raises his arm in salute and disappears amidst the crowd._


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel characters.**

Chapter Eight

_"Steve," she huffed, "where are you taking me? I hate being blindfolded; I'm going to take it off."_

"No, just a little bit longer," he urged.

Natasha did not like being blindfolded; not being able to see her surroundings and always keeping constant vigilance, but this was Steve. She knew that with him, she was safe.

"We're almost there," he informed her, sensing her impatience.

There was a sweet scent in the air. She felt his hands gently untying the knot, and she stared in awe at the scene before her.

"We're still in the Avengers Tower, right?" she asked.

"Yes," he chuckled, loving the fascinated look that was plastered on her face. This was the moment he had labored for, her reaction.

"This is what you were doing?" She said. She had suspected he was up to something, especially after seeing him countless times with Tony. They would have their heads bent together and they would whisper quickly and quietly and whenever she entered they would stop; he also did the same thing with the others. She didn't express it but she was hurt when she saw him confide in the others with something that he couldn't tell her, but her worries were all for naught.

"This was your old floor?" She guessed, amazed at how different it was.

"Yup, Tony let me keep it," he said, feasting on the emotions that were openly displayed on her face. They enhanced her beauty and he relished that he could see her like this, so different from her usual, cool mask. That was one of his favorite things to do; he liked bringing out her happy emotions it was a wonderful game for him, discovering the expressions that were so rarely on her face.

What used to be Steve's old floor was transformed into an indoor garden; a garden taking one whole floor in the Tower. The sweet mixture of scents coming from the multitude of flowers was intoxicating; and the numerous shades of colors were breathtakingly beautiful. She looked at the wooden pathway they were standing on and wondered where it led to.

Sensing her curiosity, he tugged her gently to show her the next room; it was bigger and more beautiful than the one before. The wooden pathway led to a small, circular patio, there were huge windows across the room, as one of the walls, and more flowers adorned the left side of the room. On the patio there was a small table, in a rich chocolate color; a couch on one side of the table and on the other, two, comfortable armchairs. The columns that were part of the architectural structure of the building were covered with vines that had bloomed violet flowers. To the right, was a-

"A waterfall?" She questioned.

"That was Tony's idea," he said, "I wasn't too sure of it myself but after seeing it, it was the perfect addition."

He led her in the direction of the pond, and stepped inside, into the water. She was puzzled, but when she got closer she saw the pond had stones that formed a pathway that allowed a person to walk through the pond and get closer to the waterfall.

She walked on the stone pathway and saw that the pond was stocked with fish; Fishes of different sizes and colors. It was unbelievable.

"I'm going to forget to feed them," she said, watching them swim around.

"I know, you have awful memory," he teased, "Luckily, Tony created a feeding system for them, and so it automatically gives them food."

She looked back at Steve, who had been watching her the whole time.

"I can't take all the credit," he said, as they headed towards the patio. "I had help from everybody else; Thor even brought a few flowers from Asgard." He left her side, and went to pick out a flower; a lilac, and tucked it behind her ear.

"Happy Anniversary." He said, bending his head down and soon they lost themselves in the tantalizing sensations of their passionate kiss.

Natasha was sitting on one of the armchairs, letting the relaxing sounds of the churning water to soothe her; she had another nightmare last night. The nightmares were a constant reminder of the danger that lurked in the world; she didn't want her child to suffer the horrors that she had. Natasha always went to the garden; it helped to drive the nightmares away. She was startled by a noise coming from the other room that led to the elevator. To her relief, it was only Clint and in his hands he was holding a tray, weighted down with food.

"Lunchtime," he said, making his way to the other armchair."Man, I still can't get over how awesome this place looks, it looks like another world." He sat down and placed her plate and glass of orange juice in front of her.

"Do you think, I'm making the right choice?" She blurted out. "Bringing a kid into this mess, my job isn't exactly the best for a mother to have and I shouldn't even be a mother in the first place." She looked at Clint, who had half of his sandwich already in his mouth.

Clint was caught by surprise; he wasn't prepared for her to bombard him with questions of that nature.

"Umm..." He said, stalling for time while he furiously chewed his food. She rolled her eyes watching him swallow more food than he could chew. He patted his chest a couple times with his fist and took a quick swig from his glass. "Nat, I'm not the person that could answer that question. Do you think you're making the right choice?" He countered.

"I don't know," she said, "I thought I could do this but what about if I raise the child wrong?"

"You won't," he said, "Like Tony said 'We have your back', ok?"

"What if it turns evil, like Loki?" She said, "Thor's parents raised him like if he was their own and yet, he turned into a total psychopath. How would I handle that; if my own child turned bad?"

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself," he said, repeating the words that she had once told him. "Loki is an entirely different topic that should not even be in the same conversation with your kid. I would lay down my life for your kid before I let the child fall down that path."

He gave her hand a quick squeeze of comfort.

"Now, I will tell you why you don't have to worry about that. This kid has an amazing family, something that most of us never had and he will be a total badass, just like Uncle Clint," he finished. "I will teach him how to use the bow, which we all know is the best weapon ever."

She lightly glared at him for undermining her choice of weapon but she appreciated that he had lightened the mood; it was getting too depressive for both their tastes.

"You mean the child will take after Uncle Tony," Tony said, making his way to join them. "So, you have a meeting with Fury, going to tell him he's going to become a grandpa?" He asked Natasha.

"I need to inform him but before that, I need to speak to Bruce about how long I can continue working," she said.

"Can I be there when you tell One-Eye," Tony said, "I want to see his reaction."

"No," she replied, quickly.

"Fine," he grumbled. "If you're going to ask Bruce if it is safe he is going to tell you no missions at all but we all know you're too stubborn to listen."

"You're one to talk," she countered. "Since he will say no, then when I'm four or five months, I think I should put my work on hold."

"Whatever you say Red," Tony said, his mind was already thinking of several ways he could be at the Helicarrier when she told Fury. "Pepper made me come and fetch you; she wants to go and have some girl time or whatever."

She looked over at Clint, who was busy enjoying the other half of his sandwich, and at Tony.

"I think I could go for some girl time," she said, rising from her seat. "Too much testosterone- induced stupidity here." As she walked pass the table she dragged Tony's legs that were propped on the table. "Feet off," she warned. "Thanks for the sandwich, Clint."

Clint didn't mind that she had left her lunch untouched and uneaten; the sandwich was probably not appetizing to her at the moment. Tony gave her an annoyed look for not allowing him to go to the meeting and began to eat the sandwich that Clint had brought for her.

"I can't wait to see her parenting skills," Tony said, once she was out of earshot. "It's going to be different; seeing her in mother mode. I want to see what kind of mischief the little one will do."

"I don't know, if we can't get away from doing a couple pranks on her, I doubt the kid will," Clint said. "Nat still hasn't seen herself as a mother yet, but I think her work in espionage will give her an advantage, she finds out everything. That kid wouldn't be able to get away with anything."

"Well, we will just have to wait and see. I also came over here because I'm starting a betting pool on the gender of the baby, you in?" Tony asked.

"Do you even need to ask?" Clint retorted.

"How are you holding up?" Pepper asked, as they sat in a café.

"Well, I don't really have much of a choice," Natasha said, picking at her food. "It's not only me that that I have to worry about now."

They had a small funeral for Steve, it was private. S.H.I.E.L.D. opted to keep the news of Captain America's demise in secrecy for now, until they caught his killers. It would create panic to know that people who were able to murder the only super soldier in the world were on the loose right now. For her, it was better, she didn't want the pity; she had enough of that at S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Boy or girl?" Pepper asked.

"I don't really care, as long as the child is healthy," she said.

Pepper smiled in reply. She studied her friend's face intently. Pepper was informed by Tony that she wasn't sleeping and she wasn't eating well. Natasha had lost a few pounds, there were dark shadows under her eyes from sleepless nights, and she was a little bit too pale.

What sadden Pepper the most about Natasha was her eyes. She carried herself like nothing was wrong but her eyes showed no life in them, except for a small sparkle. Pepper knew that sparkle of life was not even for her but for the child she was carrying; she was worried at first, worried that Natasha was going to do something drastic after Steve's passing but the child was the restraint that she desperately needed. She knew that Natasha wouldn't do anything to hurt that child and Pepper didn't share the same worry as her; she knew that Natasha was going to be a good mother.

"We need to get pre-natal vitamins," Pepper said, taking charge of the situation. "We also need to start remodeling one of the rooms into a nursery, unless you want to wait until you find out what it's going to be."

"I'll just pick a neutral color," Natasha said, and continued listening to Pepper, inputting some stuff here and there; thinking about how great a friend that Pepper was.

Pepper had offered for them to go book shopping for pregnancy books but Natasha declined. She didn't want to read all the possibilities that the pregnancy could go wrong. She would only rather be informed if only there was something wrong; why bother with more incessant worrying.

When they returned home, Natasha spotted Bruce in his favorite armchair, reading one of his science books.

"Tony warned me that if I asked you how long I could continue working, you would say that as of right now I should stop." She stated.

"I would," he agreed. "But we both know that you are not going to listen."

"When I am four or five months, I'll stop," Natasha said, "but that wasn't what I was here for. Bruce, you'll tell me if anything is wrong with the baby, right?"

"I will," he promised, seeing the vulnerability and the fear in her eyes. He had only seen her scared once and that was when he had changed into the Hulk in front of her, even though the Hulk and Nat were on better terms now, he still couldn't forget the emotions that she had shown.

"Thanks Bruce," she said, leaving for her room.

Natasha was standing in front of the mirror; her hands lifting her shirt up. She turned sideways but it was still too early in the pregnancy.

"Hey," she whispered, placing one of her hands on her bare skin. "You have some bad luck for ending up with the Black Widow as a mother, but the least I can do is make you a promise. I promise that I will protect you; I'll be strong for the both of us."

It eventually became a habit of hers, to stand in the mirror every day, as the days turns into weeks, weeks turned into months, and her body began to show the changes caused by the further advancement of her pregnancy.

**AN: What?! I 2****nd**** author's note! Just to clarify the ending a bit, in the next couple of chapters the time will be going by months of Natasha's pregnancy. I don't have the imagination to write about every week detailing her pregnancy so I will be going by months now, for now.**


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